


Potions and Petticoats

by Serpentress



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentress/pseuds/Serpentress
Summary: Blood is such a complex thing. Miss Hermione Granger cannot help but wonder...why does it matter so? An regency AU with hints of Jane Austen's work sprinkled throughout.





	1. Chapter 1

The Grangers were an agreeable sort of family. Mr. Granger was a quiet man who kept to his books and rarely hunted, much to the resounding shock of their acquaintances.

Mrs. Granger was similar to her husband in disposition. She had a permanently quivering chin and not quite flawless skin, things she could not find it in herself to bemoan.

Miss Granger, the eldest and only child, was quite a kind girl. She was quiet, respectable to her elders and had a nice sort of face. You could hardly call her beautiful (that _hair_ ), but she was pleasant enough to look at and had a dowry of three thousand pounds.

If asked, the surrounding neighbors would remark that the Grangers seemed acceptable, though they carried with them neither drama for the gossips to feast upon nor sons for the young ladies to wed.

Still, the neighborhood made do, and rumors abounded. Hermione found all of this highly amusing and remarked so to her mother one morning.

"Now Hermione," Mrs. Granger scolded, a smile curving her lips even as her eyes narrowed. "You must not be rude."

Hermione bowed her head before turning her gaze back to the flicking flames of the fire.

"You know, there is one neighbor we have yet to dine with," said Hermione softly, watching the fire spit and crackle. "We have lived right next to Mr. Snape for a month now, and we have received nor sent an invitation."

Her father glanced up from his book, wire glasses slipping down his nose.

"I will send one right away," he said, pushing them up. "I was under the impression that you did not want to acquaint yourself with him. They say he is terribly rude."

" _They_ also say I have been married twice," said Hermione lightly. "I will make my judgment when we meet him."

* * *

 It seemed all was for naught, for when they received their reply, it was one of refusal.

"He writes that he must _decline_ our kind invitation!" Mrs., Granger said with some surprise, handing the piece of paper over to her daughter's eager hands. "It seems it was not meant to be, my dear. I am sorry, Hermione; I know you were curious about his nature."

Hermione was indeed saddened to read of his response, but something had caught her sharp eyes. His handwriting was neat, the print clearly that of an educated man. Yet little things revealed the personality beyond the script. The L's were closed, as well as the E's, he slashed his I's, and the words were small.

Hermione furrowed her brow.

"Mother, may I take this upstairs?"

Mrs. Granger glanced up from her knitting and smiled uncertainly.

"Of course, dear," she began, glancing down for only a moment to frown at a missed stitch. "But whatever do you need it for?"

The silence was her only answer, and when she looked up, Hermione was already gone.

* * *

Hermione set the letter down on her desk and rifled through one of the drawers until she found a small box. Unclasping the latch, she extracted an envelope and shook the note from it, letting it fall to the wooden surface with a faint flutter.

Setting the envelope aside, Hermione compared the two pieces of paper. Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach did a somersault.

"I was correct," whispered she, hardly daring to believe her tired eyes. But weary as they were from reading all day, they did not lie; the handwriting was the same on both. Hermione's hands fell to her lap, leaving the two notes side by side on the dark wood.

"He has to be the one who wrote this," she mused aloud, picking up the letter from one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. "He is obviously not the same man whose signature is at the bottom, but it is hardly surprising that the Headmaster of a school does not have time to write every letter, especially for a lowly Muggle-born such as me."

Hermione was quoting the letter (not the part about being lowly, the part about being a Muggle-born) and the corners of her lips turned upwards at that strange word.

"Perhaps Mr. Snape is a teacher at this school?"

Whatever the case, she simply _had_ to find a way to speak with him, to find out if he was really a wizard, as strange as that sounded. And maybe, if he was kind, she could even convince him to become her benefactor.

Hermione's cheeks flushed with barely contained excitement, and she buried her face in trembling hands.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Miss Granger preceded to busy herself with finding some excuse to visit Mr. Snape. There had to be one, surely. 

"Dearest Mary, have you made anything new lately?" She asked hopefully the next day, a basket of flowers clutched in her gloved fingers. "A danish, perhaps? Scones?" 

Mary seemed rather disappointed in herself, and her face was downcast when she answered, "No miss. But if there is something you'd like-"

 Hermione waved her hand and handed the older women a daisy. 

"No, there is nothing." She smiled warmly, which caused Mary to look a little less distressed. "Thank you anyway." 

* * *

  
A visit to her father was fruitless; he only smiled and said she was commendable for trying so hard to make friends with the poor lonely man, and that no, he had no excuse to visit. Joining her mother on the couch was much more productive. 

"Well," Mrs. Granger said softly as she glanced up from her needlework. "I have been told The wild blackberries in the garden are delicious this year. I cannot think of a single soul who would say no to such delectable little things."

 Miss Granger smiled, set her book aside, and removed the cat lounging luxuriously on her lap, much to his dissatisfaction. Cradling him in her arms like a baby, she relocated him to a sunny windowsill and scratched behind his scruffy ear.

 "I have to go, my dear little Crookshanks." 

He gazed at her with narrowed eyes, and she kissed his little pink nose before picking up her basket and stepping into the garden.

* * *

 

The day was pleasant and mild. Summer was easing into Autumn slowly, and they still had time yet before the frost arrived. Nevertheless, the servants were busy collecting herbs and vegetables, attempting to preserve them before the cold weather came. 

Hermione called out a kind greeting to them all on her way past, the basket full to the brim with fresh blackberries. Her wrists were covered with scrapes, but if that meant she finally got an answer to all her questions, it would be worth it. 

Ahead the gazebo shone like a beacon, and miss Granger started towards it. She was the only one who ever used it, as her mother disliked the outdoors and her father had no time for such frivolity. 

Hermione enjoyed the place and often read on the shady cushioned benches within. It was now the perfect shelter from the droplets of rain beginning to fall from the cloudy sky.

 Miss Granger took off her bonnet and covered the berries with it as she hastened to her sanctuary. Upon entering, she was inclined to wipe at her eyes, seeing as they were blurred from the rain. She did so, and just as her vision sharpened, a growl hit her ears. 

Surprised by the noise, she dropped her hand and stared at the creature standing shakingly before her. It was not quite a dog and not quite a wolf. It did not look particularly threatening, with its matted fur and thin torso. 

Hermione felt a pang at the sight of creatures ribs and extended her hand towards his bared teeth. They both held their breath for a moment before the animal lowered its snarling lips and touched its nose to her finger. 

She smiled a little and ran a hand over its head. 

"Poor thing," she tsked, removing her cloak and wrapping it around the trembling dogs form. "What an owner you have, to let you wander on a day like this."

Much to her surprise, it leaned forward and licked her cheek. 

"Oh my, why did you do that?" She dabbed at the spot with her handkerchief and withdrew it to find a purple stain. "I see. Do you like blackberries? I suppose there isn't any harm in giving you some. You could certainly use a little food."

She offered the dog one, and he ate it eagerly.

"Sadly I do not carry around meat in my pockets. I will get you some once this rain lets up a little."

 It must have been a trick of the light, for Hermione swore she saw the dog nod. She rubbed at her eyes and reclined back on one of the benches.

 "Well my dear friend, I suppose we will be here a while. Tell me: do you like poetry?"

 

* * *

 

The next day found the dog gone. Hermione felt a little disappointed. She had fed the dog water and a piece of meat from Mary the night before, but he had not been inclined to stay. 

Oh well. A free spirit must wander, and she had felt such an air of sorrow from that poor mutt that she was inclined to think that he could have no master. 

The blackberries had kept well, and looked almost as lovely as the day before if a little duller in color. So Miss Granger (accompanied by her mother, of course) walked the mile over to Mr. Snape's house. It was a dark and depressing place, with curtained windows and overgrown hedges.

 Hermione tried to not become discouraged. They knocked at the door, and it was opened by a rather stout man with an irritable countenance. 

"We are taking no visitors," he said, before trying to close the door. Hermione stuck her boot in, and he frowned at it. 

"Tell me, sir," she said, taking a deep breath as she summoned her courage. "Does the word Hogwarts mean anything to you?" 

He froze, his little beady eyes rolling up and staring at her with shock.

 "Ah-you are-yes, you must be..." he looked behind him, down into the darkness of the hall. "I suppose he will forgive me if you truly are..."

 he ushered them in, looking over his shoulder with great nervousness. "Just down that way," he said, pointing to a door. "He should be in there. Madam, if you will wait here for a moment, I will escort your daughter to the brewing room." 

Mrs. Granger raised an eyebrow at this but settled down on a chair with a nod, the basket of blackberries on her lap. 

Hermione watched as the man hurried towards the door. Standing up a little straighter, she walked with great importance towards him, attempting to look unafraid.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attempts to convince a strange man.

The room she entered was dark and dismal, lit only by a rusty chandelier and a few candles that were littered haphazardly about.  A thin man dressed as if in mourning was chopping some sort of herb, the palm of his hand pressing the thin knife down with a well-timed cut. Next to him boiled a gurgling cauldron, which was spitting out some sort of foul looking green liquid.

Hermione swallowed thickly and folded her hands over her stomach, the picture of a nervous noblewoman. She would have to tread lightly; he might be her only chance to find out who she truly was. 

"Hello, Mr. Snape. Your servant invited me in." 

He snorted at the word ‘servant’, and Hermione feared she had made a terrible mistake. Yet he did not correct her.

"I heard everything," said Snape in a low, dangerous voice. "You claim to know of my kind, yet you were born to muggles."

Hermione nodded, balling up her fists and hiding them in the folds of her dress. 

"Indeed, sir," she admitted, her cheeks turning pink when he spoke of her parents so. "This is exactly why I need your recommendation. You are who sent the letter describing what I must do, are you not?" 

Finally, he looked over at her. His eyes simmered with barely concealed contempt, and she wondered if this was a permanent expression on his twisted face. He had sallow, sickly skin, though it made sense if he worked with potions all day. 

"Come." His voice was hard, and she did what he ordered without hesitation. Gruff and rude as he may be, Snape may be her only chance to get into the school. 

Once she was in close enough that he could caress her cheek if he so wished it, the man withdrew a stick from his pocket. He brandished it with such pride; it occurred to Hermione that it must have been much more than just a simple piece of wood. 

"My wand," he murmured, hesitating a moment before lying on her upturned palms. "I give you permission to use it and see if you have any trace of magic. Should you manage to damage my wand, I will see to it that you never as much as taste magic again." 

Swallowing thickly at his words, she held it like she might a quill and pointed it in a safe direction, the window. For a moment there was nothing for she knew of no spells, but then an energy that had been waiting years to be realized shot up her arm and out the tip of his wand. 

The window she had been aiming at shattered into small, dangerous shards and Snape tugged her close and wrapped his cloak around them both. The glass did not cut through it, and they were both safe when they ventured from the safety of the fabric. 

"I am very sorry," Hermione worried, setting the wand gingerly on the table. Snape pocketed it once more. "I did not mean-" 

"Foolish girl, I am a wizard, I can repair it." His eyebrow rose. "And it seems you are as well. Perhaps you will be useful after all." 

The way he said _useful_  unnerved her (goodness, she was still blushing from sharing his cloak!) but the burst of pride in her chest lessened the worry. 

"So you will be my benefactor?" she asked excitedly, her eyes sparkling as she bounced on the balls of her feet. 

"I will consider it," he tapped his chin with the tip of his finger. "Stir the potion." 

She did so without difficulty, though a little bit of the goo shot from the cauldron and burnt her wrist. When she turned around, Mr. Snape was stroking his chin and leaning against the wall, a strange look on his face. 

"You take orders well. Perhaps I could put you to work as my potions assistant, washing out the cauldrons and chopping the onion grass," he winced. "Better some empty headed country girl than one of the fools running around Hogwarts..." 

"Excuse me, _sir_ ," Hermione interrupted firmly. He raised a brow. "I am not empty headed. I take great pride in the fact that I do not remain oblivious; if you intend to treat me with disrespect than I would rather not have you." 

She curtsied swiftly and left the room with a huff. Mrs. Granger, seeing that Hermione was in one of her notorious moods, placed the basket gently on the ground next to the stout man's feet and left with a weak smile.

* * *

 

A letter arrived later that night. Hermione found it in the snarling mouth of the dog from before. He seemed intent on ripping it to shreds, but every time he would attempt to do so it would simply repair itself and give the pooch a slap on the nose. 

"Come here, my friend. I rather need to read that, I think." Defeated, the dog went over to lay by the fire in her room and Hermione ripped open the envelope. 

 

**_Very well, I will allow you to accompany me back to Hogwarts. You will attend select classes but will mostly help me around my classroom. Fail to do this, and I will send you back to your home without as much as a blink._ **

**_Also, your dog is a horrid beast of a thing. It will not be allowed to accompany us._ **

**_Severus Snape._ **

 

Oh. Hermione dropped her forehead against her desk and let out a strange noise, rather like a whine. "What a difficult man. How will I live with him?" 

The dog barked, then went back to napping by her feet, nuzzling her ankle with his snout.

* * *

"Oh my dear Hermione, write often, won't you?" Mrs. Granger's embrace was tight and desperate. The woman was no fool; she had read the letter, had seen the hints of blood prejudice. She feared for her daughter. 

 Hermione smiled warmly. 

"Mother, everything will be fine, I promise!" 

Her father was making himself busy by watching Snape shrinking down the trunks so they were small enough to fit into a pocket. 

"I worry," Mr. Granger murmured. "That you will be traveling with only a man. What rumors it will cause!" 

"Papa!" She cried, grabbing him in her arms as well and knocking his glasses askew. "When have you ever allowed what others say affect you? And besides, a servant will accompany us to steer the horses. I will be all right." 

He nodded with great hesitation but smiled when Snape walked over nonetheless. 

"I will take care of your daughter," the wizard promised, shaking both of the worried parent's hands. "She will be safe with me in Hogwarts."

How peculiar. Yesterday he had been rather intolerable, but today he was treating her parents as if they were worthy of pity! Hermione grew a little irritated but bit her tongue. 

She went into the carriage first (Snape did not offer to assist her up and she did not ask for it) and he second. Suddenly it was very much real, and Hermione felt the tears begin to form as she waved at her parents through the foggy window.

"I hope I will see them again soon," she murmured, and Snape handed her a small book, the title engraved in gold lettering. 

"For the ride," he said, pulling out a book of his own. "The Book of Potions. Far too simple for my purposes, but it will do well for you to read it if you are going to assist me with brewing." 

Hermione puffed out her cheeks at him but opened up the book and ran a finger down the worn parchment, adoring the smell of one of her favorite scents. 

"You are literate, I hope?"

"Of course!" She snapped and drew away from him to begin reading. 

As for Severus, he spent the ride pretending to enjoy his novel, though if one knew him well they could see that he was deeply troubled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I have not updated in so long! I hope you enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic! I have not yet fully figured out this website, but I hope to be posting on AO3 a lot.


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